Date: Tue, 8 Mar 2016 23:12:10 -0700
From: Amar Patel
Subject: An American in Kandahar (Chapter VIII)
Written by: Amar Patel
Disclaimer:
The following story is fictional. The author (myself) is older than 21,
anyone who is under the legal age (according to their country, state, or
provincial laws) to view erotic material should immediately dissuade
themselves from reading further.The story is fictional and similarities to
events and persons (living or dead) are purely coincidental and
unintentional. If you are offended by homosexual erotica or it is illegal
for you to read such material. Please read no further.
Copyright:
The story may not be copied, distributed, in any way, shape or form without
consent from the author.
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_____________________________
Dearest Readers,
After a prolonged hiatus, I have finally gotten enough time to work out my
fingers once more, and life has finally slowed down. A movie lifted my
writer's block, and please stay tuned for more chapters, but also an
upcoming story that I am working on.
Best regards.
Amar Patel
___________________________
Chapter VIII
Khaled
The bachem was elated at the news that there was hope on the
horizon, but seemed rather unfazed by our sudden departure, and that made
me wonder why I feared it so much. Perhaps this frightened heart of mine
had grown too attached to this place? Perhaps it was because of all the
memories, the hopes, and of course the love that sprouted from here... I
did know that I dreaded Anas' return, and the next two days only heightened
my worries. We did not see much of Jahan-jan for the last two days, he
would leave at the break of dawn to do appointments, gather supplies, and
only Allah knows what else, and would return just as dusk fell. I could not
stop thinking about what was to come, but I found some comfort in packing,
and the bachem was certainly much more helpful that I expected. It turns
out that he was a quite adept and meticulous organizer, his work rapid and
precise, his fingers moving at a pace that exceeded even mine, and we got a
lot more done that expected. Though I longed for another deep conversation,
his expression said otherwise, and I felt it best to not break his
concentration. Unable to move from his armchair, I dragged objects into the
room instead, but soon I made more trips than actually packing. Yesterday,
we finished most of the packing by high noon, and broke our silence. We
started with awkward and idle chatter, but then talked about our favorite
things. He told me about America, how you can get married to a man or a
woman, and I could have sworn he winked as he said this. The bachem was
truly a curious one, and he made me smile. I dared to ask him why he seemed
to be so unfazed by the chaos that had come to our lives, and his response
was both honest and solemn.
"Khaled, war is a lot like death." I remember him telling me "It acts
beyond our control, and strikes with discretion, with no hesitation, but
life functions in a similar way." He sighed then "I knew that by taking me
in, you were risking both your safety and way of living, and to be honest,
I expected that one day, I would be the reason you would have to leave this
place behind. I know how you must feel right now Khaled, and I can tell you
that I know that feeling."
I was surprised "Bachem, what do you mean?"
I remember how he turned to me with a soft smile, his eyes glowing in the
light "I know it must be hard having to leave after all the years you've
spent here."
I nodded "So you do know the feeling, bachem."
"Every time my family and I visited Spain or Morocco, I would always get
sad when I had to go back home. I felt like I was leaving a peace of me
behind, but my mom, she once told me about a song that many of her people
sing when they are away from home. It's a sad song, but it helps us
remember that we may come back someday."
I was curious of course "Can you sing it bachem?"
He nodded "I will sing you a verse, and I will tell you what it means" he
cleared his throat, and his singing voice was as charming as his speaking
one "Rossinyol, que vas a Franša, rossinyol. Encomana'm a la mare,
rossinyol. D'un bell boscatge, rossinyol. D'un vol."
It was a solemn tune as he said, but quite beautiful. "What does it mean
bachem?"
He gazed towards the celling "Nightingale, that flies to France,
nightingale. Greet my mother, nightingale. From the fine woods,
nightingale. Of one flight. It is about a girl who was married, and has to
live far away from her mother. You could say that the mother can be your
homeland."
I remember how that song brought us a little closer yesterday, and
after that, we ate a simple dinner. The bachen taught me to sing that song
in that language of his, and he fell asleep soon after. Jahan-jan did not
come home last night, and I tried to stay up for as long as I could. My
mind began wandering on what could have happened to agha, and for the
longest time, I stared at the empty bowl and teacup that I had laid out for
him. I did not have the nearve to disobey him, but I wanted to walk to town
to see if he was alright. I remember how my eyes began to grow heavy, and
sleep soon washed over me like a wave.
I awoke this morning with a blanket placed over me, my taqiyah on
the stool, and the dishes gone. Agha must have done those things, and I
eagerly got up to find him. Walking quietly past the bachem, I made my way
out to the front room, and to my relief, agha's shoes were there, but his
sandals were missing. He had just gone out, and I felt sadness enter my
heart. He was probably going to meet Anas somewhere, and I don't know, but
jealousy replaced the sadness in my heart. Walking down the stairs to the
hammam, I gathered my clothes for the day, and felt it best to mull over
things in the tub. Pushing the slightly ajar door open, I was met with a
surprise.
Standing under a bucket of water, Jahan-jan stood in all his glory,
and at first, I averted my eyes to his sandals that rested next to a pile
of fresh clothes, but when I dared to look, it seemed as if time favored me
for that moment. Agha's body... Nay, Jahan-jan's body was everything I
dreamed of and more, and it was just as forbidden to look at. Jahan-jan's
honey eyes were closed in comfort, the water first cascading through his
thick midnight black hair and brows, and down to his deep-set eyes and
elegant straight nose. His pink lips and peachfuzz caught a few stray
drops, and the rest of the water flowed down the remaining
perfection. Agha's olive skin is just like Kaka's, how it glowed without
the aid of light, and how the water only added to it. His chest, arms and
thighs are just as I pictured, with a light dusting of black hair, but
another part of him caught my attention, and my thoughts began to delve
into the forbidden. Jahan-jan's manhood like my own stood firm with the
morning air, and my mouth watered. The head was a purplish color, beckoning
to me... The shaft the same color as his skin, and is of impressive
length. It was bigger than my own, and thicker as well. I don't know why,
but Jahan-jan's smooth dark sack made me yearn to touch him more, and of
course, the dark bush that rested just above it all. Oh Allah forgive
me... would you forgive me for falling to temptation?... I love agha so
deeply, is that so wrong?....
I did not have time to think for time resumed its course, and I saw
agha's eyes begin to open. With inhuman speed, I rushed out, and retreated
to my room. A few moments later, agha now dressed, poked his head in, and
said a good morning. I only half listened to him as he told me to bathe for
Anas' arrival within the hour, and that his dirty laundry was in the
basket. Nodding my head, I saw him walk upstairs, and I waited for my
manhood to subside before entering the hammam. Seeing the laundry basket, I
dared to rummage through it. Bismillah, agha's clothes smelled of kabob and
the remnants of his usual smell of green tea and rosewater, and bolting the
door, I removed agha's briefs from the basket. Stripping my own clothes, I
looked down at my ranging manhood, and turned on the water for the
tub. Letting the water fill up around me, my heart led me astray, and I
found myself taking a sample of agha's smell. Quickly, I tossed his briefs
aside... If agha knew what I thought of him.... He would never forgive
me. My heart began to feel as if it were ripping as I looked at the briefs,
and my hand resting casually on my manhood... My body told me to concede,
my heart told me as well, and I let myself fall into lust. Picking up the
briefs, I imagined what it would be like to have my lips touch agha's
flesh, Allah forgive me... What it would be like to taste him. My hand was
working rapidly on my shaft, my fingers and palm caressing the head. My
climax came quicker than expected, and in horror, I placed the briefs over
my erupting manhood. White on black, the amount was copious... like a
bucket of paint. Frantically, I bathed myself, and proceeded to rinse out
the briefs. Tossing it into the basket, I got dressed, and made my way out
into the hallway with basket in tow.
I heard muffled voices from the library as I made my way up the
stairs, and found Anas' neatly polished shoes leaning against the
wall. Making my way outside, I laid the laundry basket next to the washbin,
and let myself lean against the wall. I do not know what has come over
me... truly I don't... Why do I feel this way? Is it only because we have
spent so long together? Is my love rooted to this place? My thoughts were
racing as I began filling the tub with water and hand milled soap, and grab
the scrubbing board from the shelf. Beginning to scrub the clothes fiercely
against the grooved surface, I felt a presence behind me. I pretended to
not notice as Jahan-jan walked towards me, and placed his hand on my
shoulder, and my nostrils were filled with his floral scent.
"Khaled-jan, why are you not joining us?"
I tried to not make eye contact "It is not my place agha, and there is
still work to be done."
Agha let out a sigh "Don't talk like that Khaled, I've told that I can't do
anything without you. You are my compliment, like a branch supporting its
fruit. Leave the laundry, there is still time. Anas is eager to see you as
well."
Letting agha's briefs fall into the water, I shook off the suds and
water. "Alright Jahan-jan."
As we made our way down the stairs, I noticed that Jahan-jan kept
looking back at me, as if he was observing my behavior, and for a moment as
we walked past the hammam, I could have sworn he lingered for the slightest
moment. Pushing the door open to the library, we found Anas-sahib and the
bachem chatting away in Arabic. The bachem's accent was quite different or
perhaps it was because Anas-sahib could only speak in simple
sentences. Jahan-jan put a cushion on the floor for me next to a map of
Afghanistan, and poured me a cup of watered down chai. Agha was never
really good at making tea. Sitting, the bachem smiled at me, and Anas and
I exchanged greetings. Looking down at the map, I saw several hilighted
routes and circles.
"Now that Khaled is here Anas, will you explain our journey?" Jahan-jan
took a sip of chai.
Anas nodded and switched to Dari "My Arabic is rusty, so I will explain the
journey in Dari, Khaled would you mind translating as much as you can to
the bachem?"
I nodded, and Jahan-jan smiled. Anas pointed at the map with a fountain pen
"I spoke with a few clients of mine, and they all suggested that we take
this road here leading to the east. There are military outposts throughout
this area, so we should not have any trouble. We will stop and rest in
Khaled's home village for a few days. Can you see it on this map Khaled?"
Stopping my translating, I leaned over the map, and saw that a village so
small would not be even considered "Nay agha, but I know it is north of
Bamyan. Perhaps 60 kilometers. We will have to be careful, the roads are
old."
The bachem looked down at me in curiosity, and Anas pointed to the
map. "Can you circle where it would be?"
I nodded, time certainly took a toll on what I recalled, but somehow I
remembered "Here." I pointed and circled, and I wrote the strange name of
my village, Maahe Kamel or Full Moon.
Anas read the name with a grin "Full Moon? Interesting. I think this route
is best because the bachem can see the scenery."
Amal-jan nodded quietly, and I patted his hand. "It has been so long since
I have seen it. You will like it" I whispered.
Jahan-jan's expression was surprisingly worried "The question is
Anas-sahib, is how are we going to transport our things?"
"I am glad that you asked me that question. It will be answered
momentarily."
Exchanging puzzled expressions, we heard a melodic ring, and Anas-sahib
withdrew a cell. Jahan-jan eyed it with curiosity and intrigue. We had
never seen one personally, and the last phone we used was attached to a
wall with a rolling dial. Anas' fingers moved across the sleek buttons, and
stood. "Follow me Jahan-jan, we will be back soon Khaled."
Watching Jahan-jan and Anas round the corner, the bachem tapped my
shoulder. "What's happening Khaled."
"I don't know" was all I could reply.
A few minutes later, I saw Jahan-jan come in with a pair of crutches and a
large grin "Khaled, Amal, you must come see what's outside."
Agha went over to us, and we helped the bachem to his feet. Putting
a crutch under his armpit, I let his other arm use my body as
support. Slowly, we made our way up the stairs, and I heard the rumbling of
an engine. As Jahan-jan opened he door. The bachem and I looked at each
other in wonder as we saw a military style truck, and what else, a
wheelchair was pushed in by agha, and I let the bachem sit down. Eagerly, I
pushed him outside, and saw Anas talking with an older man. Giving him
quite the stack of money, the older man shut off the truck's engine, passed
the keys to Anas, and jumped into a car that awaited on the outside of the
mosque.
Watching the car speed away, Anas had a large smile "A client of mine." He
explained.
Jahan-jan was walking around the truck in awe, and the bachem looked on in
silent relief. Anas clasped his hands "What do you think?"
"Mashallah" was all I managed to let out.
"Inshallah" the bachem lowered his head with a sigh.
Jahan-jan embraced Anas "Mersi, mersi sahib."
Anas laughed "You are no Afghan when you say that Jahan-jan, but you are
welcome."
I don't know why, but for the first time, I truly felt anger towards
Anas. After so many long years, I have seen Jahan-jan burst with life, and
yet... it was not me that made him happy. It was someone of his own kind,
someone with money and the power to change things... I clenched at the
handles of the wheelchair, and did my best to keep a straight face.
The bachem looked at me with worry. "Khaled, are you alright?" He
whispered.
I nodded, and lied through my teeth "I am fine."
"I can tell you are upset. I can see it in your eyes." The bachem smiled
softly, and reached back to place his hand on my white knuckles. "It will
be alright."
Strangely enough, I felt a calm wash over me, and I must admit that the
bachem had this energy about him "How do you say thank you in your
language, bachem?"
"Which one? Spanish, French, Berber, or Catalan?" The bachem smirked
"Spanish." I replied
"Gracias."
"Oh okay then gracias."
"De nada" He whispered, and I knew that certainly meant you're welcome.
Jahan-jan and Anas walked over, and Jahan-jan looked at me with excitement
"Khaled, we can easily leave in the next few days now that we have this. It
has a bed with high walls and a covering so we will be comfortable. How
about it, we can start loading our things now, and leave, what do you
think?"
Seeing him so full of hope, I could not bring myself to challenge him "Ne
agha."
"It is settled. Anas-sahib, we will leave in the next few days." Jahan-jan
called out to Anas.
Anas rolled up the windows "Good, then we must certainly head into town and
start our final preparations, but for now, we will begin loading the bed,
and making sure the bachem is comfortable back there."
The bachem gestured with his head to push him off to the side, and he
whispered to me "Could you ride with me Khaled?"
Though I was opposed to agha riding with Anas, I knew that agha did not
know the bachem as well as I did. He was truly a comfort for me, and he
certainly was a curious one. He made it difficult for me to deny him "Of
course bachem."
Jahan-jan waved to us from across the yard "Khaled, why are you over
there?"
I made an exscuse "The bachem needed some shade agha."
"Could you fix up a place to sleep for Anas-sahib, and also dinner?"
Jahan-jan was sitting with Anas on the steps.
I bowed my head "Ne agha."
Pushing the bachem back to the masjid, he watched me very carefully, and as
we approached Anas and agha, he averted his gaze. Anas and Jahan-jan were
speaking in Pashto, and I heard my name mentioned several times. Gazing
sheepishly at them, Jahan-jan smiled "I was just telling sahib that you
cook Korean dishes, and he is eager to try some."
I was not eager to cook for Anas-sahib, but for agha, anything "What dish
do you have in mind agha?"
Jahan-jan thought for a moment "Could you make that dish with rice mixed
with vegatables, and some cinnamon tea."
I nodded my head, and the bachem eagerly volunteered his help. Like
the sun, several of my feelings were at their highest point. Anger and
sadness for not having the same effect on agha as Anas or the bachem did,
fear of what may come due to these forbidden feelings, fear that these
feelings of mine are rooted to this place, and hope that if they endure, I
can win agha's affections. Inshallah, I can serve and love agha without
fear, and he will see past my place as a Hazara servant.
_______________
End of Chapter VIII
Thank you readers for your continued support and patience, I am
currently looking for ideas for a new story, and also an editor. I cannot
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